


Still Life with Cheeses

by liriaen



Category: Cheese (Anthropomorfic)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 06:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8879128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liriaen/pseuds/liriaen
Summary: Do you ever feel like time is passing you by? For cheese, that is usually a good thing. (Conditions may apply.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lynnmonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnmonster/gifts).



 

  
The cheese-mites asked how the cheese got there,   
And warmly debated the matter;   
The Orthodox said that it came from the air,   
And the Heretics said from the platter.   
They argued it long and they argued it strong,   
And I hear they are arguing now;   
But of all the choice spirits who lived in the cheese,   
Not one of them thought of a cow. 

\- Arthur Conan Doyle

 

"Hegkchhhhhh." The [Overjarige Beemster](https://www.rijksmuseum.nl/en/collection/SK-A-4821) hawks something dry and crusty. "Lemme tell you. These youngsters. Who do they think they are? They come from nowhere, from the cheeeese factory", he wheezes, "from highgeenick conditions, they say. Highgeenick. What's that's supposed to mean? That they're wearing their heads higher than their butts? Yeah. Lemme tell you," he rasps and gives the old black chunk on top of him a nudge, "these kids don't know nothing. Niets, verdomme."

They've heard it all before. The apples wriggle a bit, lest they get brown patches, the grapes sigh, and the olives roll about in silent boredom: there he goes again with his Provinces, with his Golden Age and the Dutch East India Company.

"You know there was a time I was weighed in gold?", the Overjarige grunts.

They know there never was a time, but granted, he was worth something. His kind showed up in inventories back then, they were treasured and bequeathed, rubbed clean and turned by milkmaids with soft hands and runny noses, they were mollycoddled and wrapped in linen like squalling babes.

Only now he's old and crotchety, and soon he'll be gone from "naturally lactose-free" and "pleasantly crumbly" to "hard-as-a-rock old fuck."

"Mijnheer," the Belegen Gouda below says primly, "does it not please you that the Lord has kept you so well? Should you not give thanks? Look around at the wealth bestowed upon you!"

The olives with their tiny voices yip "Calvinist!", and "Heretic!", and "General Farnese should've set you straight!", but then their mumbles dissipate. They're far from home, and far from Catholic tables.

"Now, Meester Floris van Dijck, he knew what he was doing," the old Beemster says. "Only the choicest goods for us, you see. Chinese porcelain, Venetian glass, the whitest, best damask… Truly, we had a Golden Age. Where good cheese was respected, and the Spanish where pushed back. The Spanish," he huffs, and spits again. "Miserable folk, with their gangly saints and wind-whipped martyrs. I mean, just look at El Greco. Velázquez. Zurbarán. Josep de Ribera. Not a cheese in sight. Wouldn't know one if it dropped on their head, verdomme."

He slumps into silence, lost in memories.

+++

Ah, but when he was younger! He could still taste the milk, the polder, the grass. The sea lapped at their feet, always ready to devour them.

When his great journey began, he squinted about nervously. He wasn't fond of waterways, even back then. Think about it: a green guy at the lock, some fool too drunk to steer, and the entire consignment would end in the canal. Beemsters fresh from the auction, stacked by weight and age, round golden fellows from Friesland, Leidsekaas and Boerenkaas, they chattered away in dialects so rough that he could barely understand them. He had already been reshelved a few times, sure, as a kid, but this was something else. Onwards, to Amsterdam! To grace a [Regent's table](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/8e/Frans_Hals_-_Banket_van_de_officieren_van_de_Sint-Joris-Doelen.jpg), no less!

+++

He felt woozy as he reached his destination; woozy from all the pushing and shoving and being turned and inspected. Couldn't they see he was a prime example of Beemsterness? Feeling nauseous, he burped and closed his pores, the whiff of cloves from the Kanternagelkaas from Groningen next to him proving too much.

"Hé, baas," he heard the Groningse say, "heur nog'n kéer, baas. Do you smell that? Somebody's reeeally mouldy 'round here."

That was rich, coming from a stinking clove cheese. But now that he'd said it… mould, sure enough. Mould and something else. Something salty and dangerous. The Beemster felt a twinge of panic. "But, but," he whispered back, "I was told this is a reputable establishment! Only the best cheese around here, strictly quality-"

"I believe Messieurs are talking about me," a high, refined voice sniffed from inside a folded slip of parchment, two plates down. "I invite you to step outside and deal with this like real cheese."

Sheep, the Beemster thought, that's what it was. "No offense intended, mijnheer," he gulped. "This is Amsterdam. The United Provinces. We are sensible people."

The parchment tilted a bit, and the Roquefort slid out, his wrapper stuck to him like a particularly roguish hat; all he was missing was a feather. He was waving a bit of paper lace in lieu of a handkerchief. "Senseeble? Ugh, je ne crois pas," the Roquefort said. "William I. of Orange was senseeble, a just and noble man. I would have fought for him."

"Oh, hou je trap," the Groningse yawned. "Leave William out of this, the poor sod. From what I can see here, you're the one from a cave, not us."

True, he thought, those French fellows, munching mould from soggy loaves of rye, sitting in their grottoes and reeking of incontinent sheep… Where did they get their sense of entitlement? This Brie-ish, limp-wristed, lily-livered, creamy je-ne-sais-quoi? He chafed uneasily, feeling common and low, and wriggled closer to the mustard pot.

"Shht, they're coming!", the butter called out.

Instantly, all foodstuffs jostled for position, each wanting to take pride of place before the Regents… And then he and the peasant from Groningen stared on, aghast, as the Roquefort disappeared within a minute. Under the appreciative "Ohh" and "Aahs" of the patrician guests, good reformed Calvinists all, the bleu was reduced to smears and crumbs.

Later, Meester Floris picked him up at the back door, the one facing the canal: the maid kissed the painter, furtively looked about, then slipped the round golden cheese down into the boat.

"This the size you were looking for, mijnheer?", she whispered.

+++

Times have changed, eh. Now that he's older he likes his nap, and when he wakes, sometimes the entire neighbourhood has disappeared, and other paintings are hung around him. Sometimes he loses track of who was there, and who went where.

Not so long ago there was this [Portuguese guy](http://cartelfr.louvre.fr/cartelfr/visite?srv=obj_view_obj&objet=cartel_1040_1222_p0004055.001.jpg_obj.html&flag=true), a small, salty kind of fellow who called himself Évora and said he came from Alentejo. Problem was, Évora bored him to tears with his tales - and he wasn't even the main guy in his painting. There was a sour glass of wine (which always claimed it was fine port), a chunk of bread, the aforementioned Évora (the most unprepossessing bit of old cheese he'd seen in a long time) and, towering above them, an ugly man in black.

People didn't often stop in front of Évora. Unlike he, the Beemster, Évora didn't look appetizing, and the conversation wasn't good either.

But now, this!

The Overjarige Beemster splutters with indignation. "Verdorie," he mouths at the Gouda, "schandaal! A scandal, is what it is. Look at these… these…" He can't find words for it.

The olives are giggling. "What, you pedestrian, have you never seen [Ricotta](https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Vincenzo_Campi?uselang=de#/media/File:The_Ricotta_eaters-Vincenzo_Campi-MBA_Lyon_H673-IMG_0324.jpg)?", the feistiest of them pipes out.

Oh, where are those highgeenick conditions when you need them?

The people on the new painting - hung just opposite his own good Meester Floris - are mocking him, they are leering and stuffing their faces with curd. To do this to him, a decent, Dutch Reformed cheese, verdomme! They can't expect him to simply hang here and watch this soft cheese lewdness unfold.

Three men and a woman, digging in, the white stuff falling from their mouths.

This goes beyond food, he feels.

This is...

+++

"Vanitas", the docent says. "Vanity. As different as both works are, they are both intended, at least on one level, as a memento mori. Remember that you are mortal, the painters wanted to say: all life is transient, and only death is certain. "

"Huh. I don’t see that", a spotty teen in a hoodie drawls. "I could eat her boobs right here…", to which the girls in the group snort.

The Beemster winces: just what he thought. An immoral picture!

"Yes, you're right, there is a link between the ricotta and the woman's breasts", the docent says. "But look at the ricotta. What does it resemble?"

"Uh." Another hoodie stops picking his nose for a second. "Skull?"

"That's right, a skull. A ghostly, creepy face, right? Where the eaters have dug in their spoons? Here, the empty eyes; there, the gaping mouth-"

"Yeah man!" – "No way." - "Eurgh."

"Now let's have a look at this other painting. It's some thirty years younger, but already done in a different style. ‘The Ricotta Eaters’ is Italian Renaissance, but this banketje is from the Dutch Golden Age. What do you think the painter of this one wanted to express? "

A girl in the back yawns ostentatiously. "That he didn't like cheese."

"Why that?" The docent smiles the patient smile of the much-put-upon.

"'Cos he's letting it go off."

The old Beemster nearly falls from his frame. How can the fucking brat say something like that? What do they teach these kids? Must be the filthy stuff from the cheese factory they give them to eat, it clogs their brains and turns them to mush, like Saint Anthony's Fire did back then.

"No, no, they haven't gone off," the docent explains. (What patience! The good, saintly woman.) "They were worth quite a lot. Even the very dark one on top. It took a lot of time and trouble to make cheese like that. Still does. But in one sense, the message is the same as with the ‘Ricotta Eaters’: no matter how rich – or poor – your table is and how much you enjoy it, all of this will pass. But then again," she laughs, "people like to see nice things, not skulls, so Floris van Dijck used the Vanitas theme as an excuse to paint nice things. Now do you see the dialogue between the two pictures?"

The group of young delinquents shuffles off bleating and looking unimpressed, and he can hear one girl grouch, "This is stupid."

He gulps and closes his eyes.

+++

For a long time, there is only stillness. Until - "scusi," a silky voice wafts over.

"Scusi, onorevole signori formaggi, did you hear that?"

He looks over at the Ricotta. "Ja wel. Not very nice, was it."

"Eet makes me feel… used," the Italian blob says. He looks unbelievably sad for a bowl of spoon-mangled curd.

The Beemster sighs. "Me, too." He throws the other an encouraging smile - he doesn't know where he gets it from; he hasn't smiled in a while, it must look rusty. "'k weet niet, I am not a scholar, but I think the young lady is wrong. We're still here after all, ain't we?"

Vanitas, ptah. Like that could ruffle an ol' Beemster. He thinks, this could be the beginning of a wonderful friendship. At least until the next re-hanging.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, lynnmonster, for the prompt! You gave me a lovely opportunity to mix and match our joint love of cheese with another love of mine, and drench the tale in the wine of genre-bending shifting levels. I do so hope you like this a little.
> 
> **Some of the Honourable Cheeses and their Respective Paintings, in Order of Appearance:**
> 
> [Floris Claeszoon van Dijck: Still Life with Cheese (Stilleven met kazen) c. 1615](https://www.rijksmuseum.nl/en/collection/SK-A-4821)
> 
> [Frans Hals: The Banquet of the Officers of the St. George Militia Company in 1616](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/8e/Frans_Hals_-_Banket_van_de_officieren_van_de_Sint-Joris-Doelen.jpg)
> 
> [Unknown: Man with Wine Glass (L'homme au verre de vin) c. 1585](http://cartelfr.louvre.fr/cartelfr/visite?srv=obj_view_obj&objet=cartel_1040_1222_p0004055.001.jpg_obj.html&flag=true)
> 
> [Vincenzo Campi: The Ricotta Eaters (I mangiatori di ricotta) c. 1580](https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Vincenzo_Campi?uselang=de#/media/File:The_Ricotta_eaters-Vincenzo_Campi-MBA_Lyon_H673-IMG_0324.jpg)


End file.
